


they stick with it, just can't quit it

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/M, Smut, tumblr prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been through too much to stop now. </p><p>Post 6x02. Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they stick with it, just can't quit it

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a **_ficlet_** and here, thousands of words later, I don't think it counts as that anymore, gracious me.
> 
> Title lyrics from "Fight for Love" by Elliott Yamin.

He takes her back to his place. It’s not a discussion, it’s not even a decision, it’s where his hands steer the car. Because he’s not thinking about where they’re going, he’s thinking about what they’re going to do when they get there. 

He’s thinking about pressing her against the wall just inside the door of his place. He’s thinking about the way her legs wrap around his waist, the way she hoists herself against him, the strength of her as she shifts and presses right where he needs her. 

The connection. 

It’s a desperation that rises in him on the drive home, one that has him absently reaching out at a stoplight, hand trailing soft patterns against her thigh. He can see the way her body starts to shake, feels the tension in her leg. 

“Sam.”

The next stoplight he takes her neck, leans over and bites a kiss to her mouth, leaves her panting and the guy behind him honking in obvious irritation. Yeah, he thinks, if the guy knew what he had here in his passengers’ seat... well. He’s not sure anyone can blame him. 

Andy, it turns out, knows how to behave herself, but he’s having a hard time not just pulling over and getting his hands on her. By the time he pulls in the driveway it’s more than just a need, it’s a drive. He’s not wholly sure how he manages to get out of the car and around to her side before she can climb out, but he all but lifts her out of his truck. She comes easily, lets him manhandle her against the door, pressing her back as he plunders her mouth again. 

Her breathless moan breaks him out of it, reminds him that they are in broad view of all of his neighbours. A couple of quick clicks and the car honks at him. He all but yanks her up the walk, listening to the laughter that is so much lighter now. She’s making fun of him in her laughter, of how much he needs her, but when he presses her against his front door - he can’t help himself, okay? - her eyes are just as heated, just as possessive. Her hands don’t hesitate to rise to his face for their next kiss and she gives as good as she gets. He adores that about her. 

Among other things. 

“Okay, okay. Jesus. Inside, Sam. Inside.”

Yes, he thinks. Inside. He wants to bury himself inside her and never come out, remind himself that this is his, all his, beautifully and wonderfully his and they are going to fight for them. His hands run over her. his eyes dark.

“Oh my God.”

But there’s laughter in her voice as she shoves at him, shoves him back, spins and uses her key - her key, he’s still not over that - to open the door. He’s on her back as she pushes open the door, his mouth finding the bare skin of her neck (he absently finds himself wondering if he’s ever told her how much he likes her hair in a ponytail), his hands clamping down on her hips. She lets him press her against the door, shoving it closed.

“The lock,” she says as he bites at her neck in earnest. They’re both going to be marked up by the end of the night, the need to claim, to reaffirm in every press of his mouth, the dig of her nails into his hips. He manages to get enough brain power to reach for the door, lock it tight. She gives him half a second notice, a little bounce on the balls of her feet before she’s jumping, wrapping her legs around his waist. He adjusts quickly, hands on her ass, body pressing her so, so tight against the door. 

She just gasps, her hands diving into his hair, clutching, clenching, scratching. Sam laughs against her skin and shifts his grip. She comes willingly, arms wrapped around his neck as he stumbles further into the house, up the stairs to his bedroom. He stops at the end of the bed and Andy slowly unwraps her legs from around his hips. Her entire body presses against his as she lowers her feet to the floor. The mood shifts as he looks at her, as his fingers go to the edge of her sweatshirt. It comes over her head a moment later and he reaches immediately for the tank top underneath it.

It feels like time slows to molasses, the emotions racing through him in the truck coming back to the forefront as he dances his fingertips across her stomach, as he feels the way the muscles leap at his touch, hears the gasp that she releases.

“Andy.”

His voice is just pathetic, an absolute mess of emotion that makes her name sound like it’s being ripped from his chest. He forgets sometimes, so caught up in the wonderful brilliance of having her, that she can destroy him. She has destroyed him, left him shattered and broken on the ground and then been the only one to come along and put every single tiny piece back where he hadn’t known they’d belonged.

Except the sound she releases doesn’t make her sound much better, certainly doesn’t make her sound put together. Her hands are too steady as they slip under his jacket, her teeth digging into her already abused bottom lip. He lets his thumbs dance over her hipbones, palming the curve of her waist. He doesn’t want to pull away from her, not even to drop his jacket, but she makes an adoring utterly desperate noise and he gives in. His jacket hits the floor. His t-shirt follows. Then he’s reaching for her again, splaying his hands as wide as he can over the skin of her back.

Andy shivers, her head tilting, exposing her neck and throat to his hungry mouth. He applies himself with reverence and gusto, leaves a mark just below her collarbone as he tips her back into his hands. She goes willingly, always has, he thinks, the utter and complete trust she’s had in him since she’d brought the equivalent of a knife to a gun fight in her first week.

(He’d been done for then. He knows that now. The gumption, the trust, the utter calm written in every line of her face. Like any other woman could compare to her.

He’d tried. They hadn’t.)

Her hands come up around his neck as his slide down her back, slip into the edge of her jeans. He can feel her shift, kick her shoes aside. He laughs into her mouth, at the impatience he can feel in the way she lets go of him completely. The waistband of her jeans loosens around the tips of his fingers and he pulls back to watch him shimmy them down her hips. 

“Sam. Come on.”

He’s not sure he can as he watches her strip to her panties. He manages to fumble with his belt, but she’s on him a moment later, spinning him into the bed. He lets her kiss him, kicks his shoes off as he palms her ass, as she climbs onto the bed, knees on either side of her hips. His hands slip down her thighs as she settles in his lap, slip off to shuffle him, give her some room. His belt is undone a moment later, his jeans open with deft flicks of her fingers. He lifts his hips as she shoves at his jeans until they’re a puddle on the floor. She huffs, to herself he thinks, given the look on her face, and then shoves his boxers off too. 

“Hey. Hey.”

Her eyes are so dark when they meet his, confused though utterly unconcerned. He swallows around the thick lump in his throat, feels the way his touch gentles, slows. 

“Oh. Oh no. Oh  _Sam_.” 

He looks up at her, his fingers still trailing over her skin. Her muscles are shaking, arousal and affection, he thinks. It helps that her shoulders are shaking, her fingers slipping and sliding gently over his face. 

“Are we really going to have ‘thank God you’re still here sex’?”

He laughs, drags her down for a thorough kiss, flips her to her back. She goes with a laugh, with a grip that tightens on his shoulders. She is most certainly not against being tossed around a little, his McNally. 

“Well,” he says, pressing a kiss to her sternum. It’s gentle, reverent, worshipful and he hears her breath catch. He grins against her skin. She isn’t fooling him for a moment. “We had a fight. And we’re still here.”

She sighs, this beautiful thing that he’s pretty sure he can see shimmer in the air. “We are.”

And oh. Oh. He can hear so much in those two words. Pride and love and faith, hope, affection, certainty... 

“And we almost weren’t.”

“Sam-”

He silences her with a kiss, takes her mouth unapologetically, keeps going until her hips are making little circles against his. He's not breathing any smoother than she is when he pulls back. "So it kind of seems like a thing."

"Oh God," she says, her legs coming up around his hips. It's her favourite, he knows, and presses down basically because he can. Her neck arches, her head presses back into the duvet and yeah. Yeah, that makes it worth it. 

He braces himself on one arm, the other sliding beneath her ponytail. He cups her skull, angles her head and takes her mouth again, slow, methodical, thorough. He lets his mouth trail along her jaw, lifts up enough that she can arch her back and do away with her bra. He takes his time getting there though, tracing over his own mark at her collarbone, sliding along her sternum. She chokes off a groan when he takes a nipple in his mouth, hands speared through his hair, holding on. 

"Andy."

"Sam," she agrees on a sigh, "I'm here. I'm here. I'm not quitting."

No, and neither is he, not this time, not now, not after everything they've been through and everything ahead of them. He's not running away this time, not when she's sworn to stay. He wants to make all of the promises, wants to tell her that this time, this time is going to work, it's going to stick, because he is not running, he will not run and he sure as hell won't let her run. This time, they're going to do it, together. 

He rears up on his knees, uses his broad palms to slide her panties over her hips. She reaches up and returns the favour, leaves them both naked and curling into each other. There's nothing worshipful about his next kiss, about the press of his hands against her skin. He echoes her moan as he settles against her in earnest, feels the scorching, soaked heat of her against him. He wants to tease, to draw this out, but her hips are moving in that way that tells him she's barely hanging on and when it comes down to it, well. He can't deny her anything. 

He hitches her thigh around his hip and slides home, breathes out harshly against his neck as her body adjusts around him. "Sweetheart."

"Yeah," she agrees, presses her mouth to his check, his jaw, his neck, everywhere she can reach. Her hands stroke his back, dig in when she wants him to move. He does, slow at first, slow and deep enough to jar her across the bed with each thrust. She chokes off a moan every time, eyes fluttering, hands clenching on his back, his shoulders, his arms. He takes her mouth when he can, when they can both stand not to breathe for just a second. It's wet and slow and gorgeous until she wraps her other thigh around his hip. 

"Faster, Sam. Please." 

He picks up the pace, braces both of his arms by her shoulders to get just the right angle, just the right force, just the right press. "So beautiful, Andy. So mine."

She laughs, choked as her back arches, her smile cut off in a moan. "So yours," she agrees. "So mine."

"Never anywhere else."

Then he's leaning his head down next to hers, his hips snapping, more and more erratic and uncoordinated with each press. Andy eels a hand between them and he can feel her fingers against his abdomen as she presses, circles. Then her body tenses and shakes, she cries out as she flutters around him. The flush crawls over his own body and it's enough of a visual to send him groaning into her neck. 

"I love you," she murmurs first. "I love you."

She says it like it's that easy, like that means everything will be okay, will always be okay. He kisses her again, feels the salt against his cheeks and realizes she's been crying. 

"I love you," he murmurs into her ear, fingers sliding beneath her body, holding her close, tight and he thinks maybe holding her together. "I won't quit. I'm not going to quit. I promise."

Her arms clench around his shoulders, her legs around his hips. "No matter what."

The scent of her is in his nose, the feel of her all around him and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he believes her. 


End file.
